


Fate is a Funny Thing.

by BunnyJess



Category: DCU, Green Lantern - All Media Types, The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Fate, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mention of assorted DC characters, Mentions of Character Death, Mentions of Donna/Jess, grieving characters, not Wally or Kyle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26578525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BunnyJess/pseuds/BunnyJess
Summary: Wally has recently lost his best friend and wants to get a more visual reminder of the colourful life Dick led. He stumbles upon a tattoo parlour by chance. Turns out the artist has their own weird connection to Dick. Fate loves to try and get people to meet; weaving their web tighter and tighter until they do. These two finally give fate a chance.
Relationships: Wally West/Kyle Rayner
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8
Collections: DCU Rarepair Exchange 2020





	Fate is a Funny Thing.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [candybehrs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candybehrs/gifts).



> Colour names mentioned are all tattoo inks.
> 
> For the DCU Rare Pair Gift Exchange and I loved every minute of writing this. Getting to get my nerd on about how artistic a tattoo can be is awesome. 
> 
> Hope you like it!

Buzzing from machines. Chatting from work stations. The scent of alcohol and ink in the air. Kyle loved it all. To him there was nowhere better than his studio.

It had taken years of hard work, grinding away and using every hour god sent. Practicing his drawing skills and developing his own style.

Evolution was something Kyle had once been afraid of. Changing styles too much and potentially losing customers. Loyal ones at that.

Then he’d found his groove.

Fine line colour work was his speciality. Details required for lifelike portraits only applied to everything he could think of. He could create a snowcapped mountain scene that looked like a photo, jewellery dripping off people’s shoulders, and enhancements tearing through skin.

His parlour had been open for a little over a year and had become his safe haven. Worries were dumped at the door, his only focus on the art he let flow from within and the client’s comfort and happiness. No worrying about his mom in California. No worrying about his ridiculous uncle testing fighter jets and pursuing everyone who showed even a passing interest. Best of all, no matters of the heart.

Or so Kyle had thought.

It was an unusually hot day in Keystone City when the bell above the door to Kyle’s tattoo parlour chimed. Just loud enough to be heard over the machines busy buzzing away at three of the four stations, but not so loud as to become annoying. Especially when it hit the time for school to chuck out and the teenagers descended for piercings.

It was odd for a walk-in to happen at twelve mid-day. Almost unheard of and so those appointments were usually booked up.

Not for Kyle that day.

His appointment had cancelled the week prior and he’d not yet filled the spot. Opting to use it as a chance to catch up on designs and paperwork. The mere thought making the man groan. If there was anything the non-native of the city could do without, it was paperwork. His staff relying on him doing the blasted task the only reason he didn’t leave it until the day before pay-day each month. He wouldn’t do that to them. 

Kyle was sat at the reception desk, tapping his stylus against the screen of his iPad. Occasionally wondering if he should turn the air-con off or just throw on his oversized evergreen hoody. It wasn’t as comfortable as his white one but he’d learnt his lesson about wearing light colours to work the one time he wore a white t-shirt and ended up looking like the bloody light spectrum.

All inspiration had escaped him. No new ideas for the two clients the day after. Nothing for the person after them who wanted jewellery wrapping along the base of their ribs. Art block firmly keeping him back.

That is until a tall, red-headed man walked into his parlour. Bomber jacket pulled tight around him, hiding the printed tee from view. Scuffed blue denim jeans with a rip in one knee and muddy converse completed the look. From the cloud of grey hanging over him it was obvious he was there for a recovery or memorial piece. If they were new ideas then it might just be enough to get Kyle over that wall.

“Hi, welcome to Inky Lantern. I’m Kyle, what can I do you for?” Customer service voice partially on, as Kyle found a more relaxed and natural voice eased his clients.

The red-head startled. His vibrant green eyes flicking up to Kyle. Almost as if he hadn’t noticed the man before. If Kyle was to pick the colour from his bottles of ink they’d be a mix of emerald and zinnia. A swirling blend that mixed well with the hori hui daruma red and snap dragon orange of his hair.

“Oh, hi,” he waved as he walked over to the counter. Pulling a slip of paper from his back pocket, the man avoided looking at Kyle. A wistful expression on his face. “I’m Wally.”

“Well Wally, what can I do?” Kyle held his hand out for the paper.

Unfolding it, the artist was faced with a family of three. A young boy and his parents. All wearing brilliantly bright reds, yellows, and greens. Not obnoxious like traffic lights. More showmanship and pizazz. The love shared between the three was obvious from the photo.

On the second page he found reference images of people in the air. On trapeze ropes, hoops, and simply flying with the knowledge their partner will catch them. It reminded him of his uncle’s friend Guy, always ready to catch Uncle Hal. Never leaving him as he nearly fell time and time again.

A bolt of excitement shot through him and Kyle just knew this was the one to get him through his art block. “These are interesting. What are you thinking and where would placement be?”

Wally had seemed to have forgotten Kyle was there. Entranced by the photo of the family, smiling down at the youngest there. He blinked up at Kyle, freckles disappearing as his pale skin flushed carnation pink.

“Are you able to do this guy starting to swing off the trapeze and as he launches and flies, he ages? Maybe down my arm or across my back?” Sadness was lining his tone like mottled grey shading, making Kyle’s heart ache for him.

Hope as bright as Robin egg blue whipped through the artist. People came to him for many reasons. Some just wanted a tattoo, others collected art on their skin. Some were healing and wished to turn their scars into something beautiful, while others wished to finally mark their skin with intention after years of marking it through illness. Some wanted deep, dark colours or black and grey to commemorate lost love, while others wanted bright splashes of colour to show how they lived.

Every tattoo ended up different. This idea was no exception. Kyle just hoped he would do it justice.

“Do you have pictures of them ageing? I’d want to get it accurate for you.” Kyle glanced up and met those flecked, swirling eyes. “Who was he to you?” A soft whisper, soft enough Wally could pretend he’d not heard if he wished.

“He was my best friend. He, ugh, sorry it’s still fresh.” A sniffle and Kyle knew the tears were close.

Jumping off his stool, he grabbed the papers and his iPad, moving around the counter. Kyle guided the man into one of their piercing rooms. Shutting the door and giving them some privacy. Handing over a box of tissues once he’d gotten Wally settled on the bench.

The thanks came through watery tears finally streaming down Wally’s face. Heart clearly breaking for this man all over again.

“We grew up together, Dick and I. He used to be an acrobat and never really gave it up after his parents died. I can’t count the amount of times I watched him fly, almost like gravity didn’t affect him.” The light that had blinked on suddenly fizzled out. The darkness returning worse than ever. “Fucking home city. I’m sure you’ve heard how awful Gotham City is. Highest crime rate in the country. Dickie’s adopted family were there and it’s where he now rests with his parents. Drive by shooting, one of the innocents caught in the crossfire.”

With a gulp Kyle jumped up onto the counter. Back resting against the mirror. He knew what it was like to lose friends so suddenly. He’d lost his fair share, had helped bring those left behind back into the light.

Usually commemoration customers impacted Kyle very little. The knowledge that he was helping them heal enough to ward off the depression that could come from hearing about so much death and destruction. With Wally, however, it felt different. Something about his story, about the tragic and sudden way he’d lost his best friend. It hit closer to home than ever before.

Images of Donna and Jess flashing through his mind. The power couple now resting together after a car wreck and a drunk driver. Two of his closest friends gone in an instant.

He glanced up at the clock and did a quick calculation of time. Rarely did walk-ins with this much detail or this size piece not get booked in for the future. Kyle just couldn’t do that today. His day was free, meant to be booked up but luckily free. Almost as if the universe wanted him to do this specific piece.

“I’ll free form it, get it flowing just right for you. If you’ve got those pictures of Dick I can do the outline and background shading today. It’ll take a couple of sessions at least to get it all done, but we can start today if you want.” The relief that bloomed from Wally like a rose in summer reassures Kyle he’d made the right choice.

They talk through the design. It’s more of Kyle’s older style. Mixing fine line black and grey with great splashes of watercolour. The colours transitioning from Dick’s childhood trapeze suit to the one he’d use as an adult when he could be with his childhood circus. Yellows flowing throughout but shifting to blues as he gets older.

“I want the watercolours because Dick had a similar thing done for his memorial tattoo for his found sister.” Those words flick open a lock in Kyle’s mind.

His mental storage unit pulling up an old client of his. Flicking his gaze back to the older picture of Dick he studies the man more intently this time. Breath leaving him as realisation hits.

“Holy shit!” Kyle shoots his gaze up to Wally’s. “Was that tat for a woman called Donna?” He’d feel awful for the question if it wasn’t checking against his mental file.

“Uh, yeah it was.” Wally sounds so lost and confused that Kyle wants to kick himself.

“Blackson…no that’s not right..Gray…it’s Gray-something isn’t it?” He curses himself for not remembering the name. To be fair to Kyle though it has been about five years since he lost Donna and he’d moved tattoo shops and cities twice since then. Finally settling down and opening up his own in a city that had no connection to her or Jess.

“Grayson, Dick Grayson. Why?” That confusion has changed to suspicion.

Kyle can’t blame him. Dick Grayson is the son, or was the son, of one of the wealthiest men in the country. He pulls up his archive on the tablet, flicking back four and a half years to the finished piece he’s looking for. Two astrological signs made up of stars with splashes of nebula red and faded denim blue watercolour.

Spinning it on his palm, Kyle holds it out to Wally. Watching the other man closely. That spark of recognition causing him to look up at Kyle.

“I did that piece.” It’s now Kyle’s turn for a darkness to cloud him. It was a beautiful piece only taking six hours but staying in his mind and portfolio for years.

Wally chuckles as he looks between the image and Kyle. “Clearly fate then.”

It really is funny to Kyle how fate works in mysterious ways. Linking people together before they’ve even met. Life looking for ways to cross your path with another. It had been a chance meeting at Donna’s funeral that led him to doing Dick’s tattoo; just as it seems it was that same meddling fate that led Wally to him on the one day he’s got free of appointments.

Jumping off the counter, Kyle guides Wally through to the studio. Their receptionist whipping him up a cup of coffee while Kyle wipes everything down and wraps the necessary armrest and massage table in cling wrap. He’s not sure how he’ll seat Wally yet but he doesn’t want to make him wait too much if he can. It pays to be prepared, time is money in business after all.

Once ready he calls Wally through. Prepping his skin, shaving it and wiping it down, so he won’t smudge the finished design. Picking up his orange pen and starting to sketch the design out.

Starting from the top of Wally’s shoulder and partially over his right pec the ropes of the trapeze follow the curve of the muscle. Flying through the air. He uses the collarbone to place spotlights, rough marks of where the beams will go, highlighting the first performer.

From there he marks out the rough tumble Dick will go through. Twisting and turning, flipping and diving down the arm. Following the contours of the body. Dick never landing as it ends in a shower of sparks. Pieces like this, where the person doesn’t want the detail of the person but wants to have them as a shadow to highlight the colours and majesty of their life, are easier to freehand. Giving better control over placement and position. Allowing it to really move with the person rather than looking stuck on or out of place.

“There, go look in the mirror and tell me what you think. Obviously it’s just the basic shapes and will get neatened up as I outline and such.” Kyle babbles as Wally looks the design over with a critical eye.

Eventually shooting a smile over his shoulder at the other man. “It’s going to look so good.” An excitement Wally had been missing through the grief sparks to life.

Machine buzzing, Kyle dips it into that first pot of black ink. Mind focused on what he’s doing and who he’s doing it for. He remembers Donna talking about her found brother. This piece is as important to him as the one he did about Donna. He can’t let her or Wally down.

There is a connection he refuses to examine. Focusing on the sweep of his needle and the image coming to life under his gentle guidance. Leaping child turning into a tumbling pre-teen, cartwheeling into adolescence, and swinging off into the distance as a young adult. Never landing, too free to land. Gravity having no hold over the last of the Flying Graysons.

As with the majority of his clients, Kyle falls into easy conversation with Wally. Their interests aligning in certain areas and completely opposite in others. Where Kyle loves art, Wally lives for chemistry.

“So, how did you meet Dick?” Kyle asks. Often it’s talking about the person or pet with their artist that helps the person heal. Remembering all the good times and allowing their memory to live on by getting someone else to know about them.

Wally chuckles and flushes that brilliant red again. The freckles Kyle can see travelling across his skin disappearing on his cheeks. “We met through my uncle. He was sort of my foster father really. Shitty childhood, y’know.” He shrugs one shoulder, mindful of Kyle’s work. “Anyway, Uncle Barry decided it’d be good for me to have someone who understood what I was going through. It’s tough being eight and being taken from your family. They’re still alive, they just deserve to rot in hell. He had this old college friend of his, Hal, who works for this company that’s big in the field of engineering. More planes than anything else…anyway his boss introduced him to Bruce and Hal mentioned that Barry had taken in a kid similar to how he had. One thing led to another and we met. Best friends from day one.”

Kyle blinks as his hand stills. It can’t be the same person. Plenty of people are called Harold and Barry, especially his uncle’s age. “So you got to see him often?”

“Oh yeah, Dick used to joke it was the only good thing B ever did with his money. Flying us to see each other nearly every weekend. Eventually Barry let me stay with him and go to school with Dick to save on transport. Plus I was getting wicked tired.” The nostalgia is so strong in Wally’s voice you’d think it was forty years ago that was all happening, not a couple of decades and less.

They stay chatting about Dick. Wally regaling Kyle with many a story of his ridiculous best friend. From just how often his grandfather told him off for climbing on chandeliers, to them both sneaking out with one of Bruce’s oldest cars and ending the night with it impounded.

He slowly begins to talk about Barry too. Kyle listening to story after story of him and his wife. Smiling at Wally with every laugh he lets out. The sound seeming like pure magic after the thick pitch black cloud that had darkened his being.

The image comes to life, black and grey shading making Dick always look like he’s in the light. The solid body shapes fading from light to dark depending on where the spotlight would hit him. Kyle’s hand never stopping. Moving between the pots and switching out his lining needle for his shading one and back again.

As always happens, Kyle begins sharing his own little stories. Snippets of his interests or stories from the shop are what he usually uses. This time, for some reason, he ends up talking about his mom and her friend who eventually became his Uncle Hal. Joking with Wally that they probably spent equal amounts of time around jet engines during their teenage years, only Kyle was more focused on drawing them or using them as places to sit while sketching out the workers.

“Does your Uncle Hal work for Ferris Aircraft out of Coast City?” Wally has turned to stare at Kyle. Head no longer relaxed against the raised back of the table.

Kyle’s hand pauses again. This time it’s his turn to look confused and slightly wary. “Yes, why? What has he done? I won’t be bailing him out.” Minor cursing at how seriously that comes across, not the covering joke it was meant to sound like. One too many times has Kyle had to bail his uncle out of situations since he became an adult himself. The older man is a brilliant pilot, he just also happens to be a human disaster.

“That’s Uncle Barry’s friend, the reason I knew Dick.” Wally sounds awed.

Just another example, Kyle supposes, of fate trying to lead them to meet. With every instance that arises. Parties they’d both been invited to but one or the other hadn’t made. Hal always preferring to spend his birthday with Barry and Carol, then flying to Cali for Christmas with him and his mom.

There are too many instances. Too many times life has gotten in the way of fate. He knows it’s ridiculous. Alex, Blessing (who preferred to be called Bleez), and Jason would all call him a hopeless romantic. Although, Kyle didn’t take Jason’s opinion on that too seriously considering the man taught literature specialising in romantic classics. His friends were amazing, if a little annoying.

Clearing his throat, Kyle looks up at Wally, he can’t ask yet. It’s not professional or right. He doesn’t want to pressure Wally into saying yes just so the piece gets finished. With the size of the piece it’ll require another session to put in all the colours. Biting his tongue, Kyle resolves to wait.

Fate has waited this long, surely they can wait another two weeks and one three hour session. Kyle’s going to ask him to dinner, even if he has to shuffle his diary around to get Wally in as soon as the piece has healed. He’s seen what happens when you let fate linger or ignore how they try to bring people into your life and you reject them. Too many people have died during his life, too many people have selfishly walked away. He just needs fate to wait that little bit longer. Long enough for Wally to be under no pressure or feel no obligation to say yes.

Mind made up, Kyle gets back to work. A determination to get the piece done in just the two sittings stronger than he’s ever had before. He needs to ask, there is just too much at stake and too many lost chances not to do like the man whose brought them together and take that last leap of faith. Safe in the knowledge that gravity is just a social construct when you were born to fly. Or safe in the knowledge that maybe, just maybe you might have found your one.


End file.
